Dreams
by Sweet Honey-sempai
Summary: After Riko dies, Hisoka searches his soul for who he is, what he wants, and how Tuzuki fits into the equation. Meanwhile, Tsuzuki just wants to make Hisoka happy.
1. A Dream Deferred

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei or A Dream Deferred. Much props to Mars, which gave me on of the lines in the story.

**Background Information:** This is an idea I got back in May of last year that's been bugging me since, so I'm going to write it and hopefully have it turn out well. For edification, this takes place in Gensoukai, after Riko has died; however, there is no battle between Kurikara and Kijin. Hisoka has returned to Kansei to recover. This is Hisoka POV, as well, and based on an essay I wrote for the fun of it regarding Hisoka's role in TsuSoka. The essay itself is posted up on my LJ (click on my "homepage" button to find it).

* * *

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up  
like a raisin in the sun?  
Or fester like a sore--  
And then run?  
Does it stink like rotten meat?  
Or crust and sugar over--  
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags  
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

- "A Dream Deferred", by Langston Hughes

* * *

I don't like to think of myself as someone who runs away. I am not some frightened little puppy that can be kicked around by its littermates (or it's parents or other dogs or a wolf or…). I can stand up for myself. I…am strong. Yes. I'm a strong person. There are so many things that I can handle. Like this Shinigami job, which is driving Tsuzuki crazy and has been for decades. Like…

Like…

Like my nightmares. I don't wake up in a cold sweat anymore, feeling his hands all over me even as the dream fades into the recesses of memory. Because no one ever touches me in my dreams anymore.

………

Because in those dreams, I'm running.

………

Of course, it's better to run than to stupidly allow myself to be raped and murdered. Of course. Of course. I've made it so the bastard can't touch me. Even before I made it that way, he never got very far with me in my dreams anyway.

Good. I don't have to deal with feeling that man on me again. I just run.

I run.

………

"The boy is so impatient."

There they go again, Seiryuu and Taimou gossiping about me right outside my hospital door. Of freaking course I'm impatient. Do they know the shit I've had to deal with? Waiting to be let out of the basement for air, waiting in the hospital to die…I do not like waiting. There's nothing "worth waiting for". If you want it, go and get it.

"Now look where he is. Stuck in the infirmary with his only Shiki dead."

Thanks for reminding me.

Not that I needed reminding that the hyperactive little cactus died trying to protect me.

God damn it.

That was supposed to be what _I_ do. _I_ was supposed to be the guardian, the protector. I'm tired of people (Tsuzuki, Riko) doing that in my stead.

I'm not a puppy that gets kicked around. No one is supposed to die because of me. I'm the _Guardian_ of Death. I'm supposed to be in control. The one to put his life on the line. The one calling the shots. The strong one.

Not a manic-depressive partner or a stupid Shiki.

………

God damn, it hurts to move. I haven't been in this much pain since…since I tried to stand up after Muraki disappeared.

And what are you going to do about _this_ pain, Hisoka? Run?

Oh, joy. Self-deprecation. Just what I need.

………

The door opens. Tsuzuki enters, and shuts the door behind him. I'd tell him to go away, but it hurts to move my mouth. He sits next to me on the bed.

How funny. The only one to know about the first time I felt pain like this, and now I can't even communicate to him that I'm in that same pain again.

I send out my Empathy. He knows, oh how he knows, even without me telling him. Little snatches, surprisingly accurate, of me being destroyed by Kurikara and me being destroyed by Muraki mingle with each other.

I grimace. He immediately puts up a wall on those imaginative musings. Crap.

"I don't need you to hide your thoughts," I mutter through gritted teeth. "I'm not a child. I know what happened to me. I can deal with it."

He looks at me, and his eyes are odd.

"Are you sure you can?" he asks me.

"What?"

"I…I told you I know you better than anyone," he says, his resolve faltering. "I don't think you can. Deal with it, I mean."

"I'm don't need you to take care of me." Because I am not a child. A child runs when it's scared. A child does not protect. A child can't protect. Because it is not strong. And I…am strong. "I'm a strong person," I say. He doesn't reply. "I'm a strong person," I insist, and still he doesn't reply.

I can keep Muraki from touching me in my sub-conscious. I can make things happen. I can protect. I can deal with being traumatized. My parents locked me in the basement. I should be a psychopath, not just irritable. I was raped. I should be afraid of men, not just Muraki.

No. I am not afraid of Muraki. Screw how much I screamed and cried and begged for him to stop. Screw how far I run from him in my dreams. I am not afraid of Muraki.

"Then why don't you talk to me about anything?" Tsuzuki asks, finally.

"I can take care of myself," I say. I'm not scared of anything. Only weak people are scared of anything. And I am not a weak person.

"Hisoka, do you have any dreams?" Tsuzuki asks me after awhile. "Anything to live for?"

"To get strong," I answer. "Strong enough to get back at my parents and Muraki."

"I…is that all you have room for, in your heart, Hisoka?"

God damn it!

"Don't you want me to get revenge on Muraki?" Screw the pain; those eyes are hurting me more than anything Kurikara inflicted on me. "He's hurt you, too. But you…you don't want to get revenge on anybody, you're too damn much of philanthropist." I can think straight. "I've wanted to get revenge on Muraki since before I even _liked_ you. This is my prerogative, Tsuzuki. I have to do this. I have to…I have to. I can't run…"

Because children run. And I'm not a child.

But I run. I run from Muraki in those dreams, as much as I want to turn around and put a knife in his heart.

Why do I run? I'm not scared of Muraki.

Bullshit.

Children lie, too.

I'm scared of Muraki. I'm petrified of him. Because around him, I can't protect myself. I can't protect anyone. I can't protect Tsuzuki.

Oh, God, Kyoto. Tsuzuki sitting in that fire just waiting to die. Why did I, the Empath, not get that he had been preparing to kill himself for years, since even before I met him? Why did I not see what Muraki was doing to Tsuzuki? Why didn't I protect him?

Because I _couldn't_ protect him. The same way I couldn't protect Riko. Or Tsubaki-_hime_.

I couldn't even understand how Muraki was affecting Tsuzuki, because I was too self-absorbed to notice. I cared too much about hating Muraki to comprehend anything else, including my partner's mental state.

I am a child. A silly, impatient, weak, selfish child who can't protect anything.

"Hisoka?"

I'm crying. Shit. He can't see me cry. Children cry. I can't be a child. Children need to be protected. He'll want to protect me. He shouldn't have to protect me. He shouldn't have to see me for what I really am.

It hurts me physically when he touches my face to wipe away my tears because he just shouldn't have to. Why does he put up with my childish shit? He's got bigger problems than a spoiled brat who doesn't know anything and can't do anything for anyone else, who runs from what scares him instead of facing it like a grown-up.

"Hisoka, I wish you would talk to me," Tsuzuki says. "Even after Kyoto, even after what you said, you still won't…it's like you're running from me."

After Kyoto is when I started running from Muraki in my dreams. So I wouldn't have to feel him, to face him, to deal with the fact that he hurt me in ways that might be irreparable when I was thirteen and almost managed to do likewise in a different way in Kyoto. My parents…I run from them, too. I can't talk about them. I can't even think about them.

Tsuzuki, how am I supposed to talk to you about being raped and abused and neglected? They told me; they proved to me that I was weak and a child and if I tell you I'm going to prove it to you, too.

"Hisoka, are you scared of me?"

I'm petrified of you thinking that I'm in need of your protection. I don't want you to think that I'm a weak child because then you'll be just like them, and I can't bear to have you be like them. You're the first person in the world I ever respected and I need you to respect me, too. I need to be stronger than Muraki and my parents. I need to protect you. So you can respect me. That's my dream.

"Hisoka, please." He takes my hand in between both of his and raises it off the bed. "Please, just talk to me. Just…just tell me what you're thinking right now."

He kisses my fingers.

"I don't deserve you."

I don't know why I said it. It might have been the kiss. It might have been that I was about ready to explode.

"All I can do is throw tantrums when I don't get my way and run away when I get scared. I don't deserve to have you respect me, because…because I'm always getting saved. I…I can't protect anyone. Tsubaki or Riko or you…All I am is a stupid kid who's only been around for eighteen years."

There. Now it's out. Now he knows who I am and is free to despise me, because he should have better than an immature brat for his partner.

He stares at me. And then he opens my hand and holds my palm against his face. I feel his tears slipping in and out around my fingers.

"Oh, God, Hisoka, is that what you think?" he asks me.

I should have known. He would never hate me. There's no room in him for hate.

Great. On top of everything else, now I feel like a complete jackass.

"Is it…does being with me make you feel that way?"

"No," I say. No, no, no, no, it's not you, please, don't ever think it's you. It's Muraki and my parents and me taking it out on you because I love you so damn much that I'd die if you looked at me like they did.

But…but…

The man has no hate in him. How can I think so little of him?

I'm startled by one of his hands touching my face, wiping away more tears that I wasn't even aware I was shedding. The other hand still holds my own.

It's too late. Tsuzuki already sees me as a child. A weakling. Disposable.

I want to sit up. I want to get up and walk away. But I can barely move an inch without pain exploding over my body. Piece of shit Shikigami making it impossible for me to move.

It's starting to scare me. Every time his fingers brush against my eyes I see fingers masked by cherry blossoms and red with blood. I try to move and there's pain.

I can't run and I start to cry harder. He hitches, and then doggedly continues to take my tears onto his fingers.

I'm not even aware of deciding to do it, but the instant I sink my teeth into his hand I realize that I've just done one of the least rational things of my existence. It startles him; it startles me, and before I know it I've released his hand from my teeth and instead my tongue is running all over where I've just bitten him. There's no blood and no puncture wounds, just light red marks, but those are injuries to me and no other part of me has the strength to try and take care of them.

His hand moves before I realize it and my tongue grazes his wrist.

I hadn't even noticed he'd taken his watch off. He does that sometimes, since Kyoto, when it was just us alone together. I don't know why. I don't want to ask.

I can't control my tongue; I'm still licking those scars that won't heal as his fingers brush my face and then dig their way into my hair. His other hand knots our fingers together. I glance up at him. His eyes are shut and his head rests against our combined knuckles.

"You saved me, didn't you?" he says, and through my hand I can see me, a sobbing hysterical mess throwing myself on him, begging him not to die because he's where I belong and I wanted to live. "I…I didn't want to die, Hisoka. I wanted everyone…I wanted _you_…to be happy. I wanted to make you happy. I thought I couldn't, I thought I was just…That's…that's _my_ dream, Hisoka. I want to see you happy because of me."

I retract my tongue, not taking my eyes off him. He leans over so his face hovers barely a centimeter over mine.

"Thank you. For saving me."

He kisses me, and it's his mouth (not Muraki's) and his hand in my hair (not Muraki's) and his scars (not mine) so I can't run from them because damned if I ever leave him alone again.

The fear isn't gone even as he kisses me a second and third time, and again and again. I'm letting him touch me in ways that were I not bedridden I would shove him away for. I'm just too damn weak and in too much pain to make him stop.

He stops.

I'm confused.

"Sorry," he says, taking hold of my hand again. "You looked scared."

"I was," I murmur, not realizing he can hear me.

Shit.

His hand begins to slip out of mine but I grab it. If he goes insane with self-loathing again, I'll do likewise. "Stay," I order. In a rasp. I sound pathetic.

He does so, reluctantly. "Did I…remind you of him?"

I don't answer. I don't need to.

"Is…" Tsuzuki swallowed. "I know this is going to sound stupid but, is he what's been scaring you?"

I don't answer. I don't need to. Tsuzuki looks away. My grip intensifies. "Among other things," I say quietly.

He looks back at me, steeling himself for something. I blink and suddenly he's kissing me again, even softer than before, barely touching me but there enough so I can feel him. I can feel him going out of his way not to use any force at all, so much so that it's a wonder he had enough nerve to do it.

Only this man can make me feel like a human being and two inches tall at the same time.

It's so damn sad that I can't just enjoy the fact that I'm being kissed by the man I love.

He sits back and half of me is relieved and the other half desperate for his return. I won't, can't let go of his hand. He's not letting go either. We sit in total silence for what feels like hours.

"You know…you're not a child," he finally manages to say.

I look at him. I'm quiet for a moment.

"I…couldn't sleep."

He stares at me. I don't know why I said that, or why I continue.

"It was a really humid summer that year. I couldn't breathe well, and it was keeping me up. I…I punched out a window and left the house. We had a really large property, and there was this grove of cherry trees…"

I stop. I try to force my voice box to work and it won't. Next thing to talk about is how I felt that woman's emotions pour into me as she was killed. I just can't put it into words.

I look at him. He looks slightly pale but squeezes my hand. "Go on."

No. I can't. I can't say it out loud. I shake my head.

He nods. "I understand." A pause. "Will you…can you tell me more, later?"

I make a noise. I don't know if it meant "yes" or "no".

He looks into my face and reads my expression for a few moments.

"You're not a child," he says. "And I do respect you."

I'll tell him. I'll tell him everything. I try to say so but my throat is sawdust.

I still feel so weak and childish but Tsuzuki is not my parents or Muraki. He is not them. Not them. He isn't and never will be anything at all like them.

I'm a child and I cling to his hand but there's no hatred in his touch; there's only his little dream of wanting to make me happy. My parents and Muraki fade, still visible and still clear but dimmed in my memory, as that dream tries so hard to replace them.

I try to tell him but I can't, there's a fear in my throat that grips my voice and won't let me say anything.

Tsuzuki pushes my bangs out of my eyes and his own eyes tell me he doesn't need my words. It's only me who suddenly needs my words, words that could defeat and banish my tormentors, but can't find them.

Tsuzuki kisses my hand. I'll find the words. I'll find the damn things. I don't know when or where, or how long I'll be a child who clings to his hand like it's a lifeline instead of simply holding it because it's a pleasant thing. But waiting is not a horrible thing, because…

Because waiting is not like running.

That's my dream. To stop running.

So I'll wait until those damn words find their way out of my throat and Tsuzuki hears them. He'll hold my hand until then. He'll wait with me. I know he will.

Waiting is not like running. And children do not wait.

I can wait.


	2. Tired Lovers

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei nor the poem.

**Note:** From Tsuzuki's POV this time.

* * *

_"Tired lovers, rest your heads  
Here upon the pillows sweet  
One for your brow, one for your feet,  
And on this humble food be fed;_

_And then drink you of the holy wine."  
So spoke the voice of the dead.  
They dreamed of what was left unsaid;  
They mourned the hollow loss of time;_

_And finally the two were wise,  
And finally were lifted up,  
And tasted joy, drank its cup  
And drained the dregs of paradise._

- Unknown

* * *

It's so strange that I've come to a point where being away from him makes me nervous. Of course, it might just be because he no long has much by way of a top layer of skin, but when I think that when I first met him, I couldn't stand him, it really strikes me how much we've changed. Or at least, how I've changed.

"The boy is so impatient."

He is. He really is. But still…

"Now look where he is. Stuck in the infirmary with his only Shiki dead."

…they really shouldn't be gossiping about him while he's hurt. I love them so much, but my Shiki can be utter bitches sometimes.

I glare at them and they bow out of the hallway. The last time that happened I had caught them badmouthing Touda. Suzaku later explained that the sight of me angry unnerves them, because I'm so rarely angry.

Unlike a certain partner of mine.

They've disappeared, so I open the door, step in, and shut it behind me, trying very hard not to look at him because I don't know how well I can handle it. When I first saw him, burnt and bloody from Kurikara's attack, I wanted to throw up. It hurts me so much to see…to even think of him in pain. When I remember what Muraki told me…when I think about him being…

He winces. Shit. I'm projecting. I put those thoughts away; shove them in a box and put them on a shelf.

He looks annoyed now. "I don't need you to hide your thoughts," he says to me. "I'm not a child. I know what happened to me. I can deal with it."

Oh, Hisoka, no. Please don't do this.

"Are you sure you can?" I ask, trying not to push him. There's nothing he hates more than me needling him.

"What?"

"I…I told you I know you better than anyone," I say. Crap, the last thing I want to do right now is upset him. I'd be pissed at me, too, if I was lecturing me while I was hurt this badly. "I don't think you can. Deal with it, I mean."

He looks angry. "I don't need you to take care of me," he says. "I'm a strong person."

What can I say to that? Yes, Hisoka, you are a strong person. Strong enough to put up with my crap, to not leave like every other partner I've ever had in the seventy-odd years I've been dead.

"I'm a strong person," he says again, like he's trying to convince himself instead of me, and I still don't know what to say. He's strong enough to stay with me, but I still know next to nothing about him. People around the office have taken to call him Captain Clam and they're right, he never says anything. My partner has been my partner for two years, I love him so much it physically hurts sometimes, and I barely know him.

"Then why don't you talk to me about anything?" I ask. I've always thought a strong person wouldn't be afraid to talk, to be open.

_I_ am a weak person.

"I can take care of myself," he says.

Oh, you could, you could, Hisoka, but why would you want to? Condemn yourself to living alone, without people who love you surrounding you? That's my _nightmare_, Hisoka, to be totally alone, without my friends, without you. My vision of paradise is you and I, actually happy, together, with everyone around us. That's my…that's my _dream_. What would you make of it, Hisoka?

"Hisoka, do you have any dreams?" I ask. "Anything to live for?"

"To get strong," he replied. "Strong enough to get back at my parents and Muraki."

Revenge. God, what an ugly thing to be inside of this beautiful person. It pains me to see his heart so filled with hate, almost as much as it hurts to see him suffering.

"I…is that all you have room for, in your heart, Hisoka?" I ask, barely aware that I'm asking him.

His face transforms, some desperation enters the anger his face is giving off. "Don't you want me to get revenge on Muraki? He's hurt you, too. But you…you don't want to get revenge on anybody, you're too damn much of philanthropist. I've wanted to get revenge on Muraki since before I even _liked_ you. This is my prerogative, Tsuzuki. I have to do this. I have to…I have to. I can't run…"

Can't run? Run from who? Muraki? But that's…you've never run from him. You've stood up to him, looked him in the face, spoken directly to him, more than I could ever do if I was in your place. Do you know how much I admire that about you…that you could look him directly in the eye and not let him cow you? I don't know how you did that. You're so brave…Hisoka?

One large teardrop appears in his eye. It spills over.

"Hisoka?" A thin stream begins to follow. I reach out and wipe it away. Oh, God, Hisoka, please don't cry. You only cry when something truly awful happens, like when Tsubaki died…or in Kyoto…

He flinches and tries to pull away. Hisoka, please don't… "Hisoka, I wish you would talk to me. Even after Kyoto, even after what you said, you still won't…it's like you're running from me."

He told me he wanted to stay with me, that his place was with me, that I had a home in his heart. But he's never talked about it again. Did I overwhelm him? It was like this with Tatsumi, too…I let myself go completely in front of him, took down all my barriers, and he pulled inside himself and finally he left because he just couldn't deal with it. Not that I blame him. I can barely deal with me, either.

Oh, Hisoka, why did I think you were different from the partners before you? Why did I think I wouldn't scare you away like I did them?

"Hisoka, are you scared of me?" I ask, and he doesn't answer. He's struggling with himself, fighting some kind of inner battle that I'm not privy to, that I want so badly to be privy to. Such a brave, strong person…why can't he just tell me what's wrong?

"Hisoka, please." His hand is miraculously uninjured and soft in my own hands as I pick it up. I wish I could hold him; this is the closest I can get. "Please, just talk to me. Just…just tell me what you're thinking right now." We've got to start somewhere, Hisoka. Tell me anything, anything at all. Just watching you cry so quietly is ripping me apart, because I love you so much that watching you cry makes me want to, too.

I can't stop myself; I need to show him that I love him, that he shouldn't be afraid to talk to me. I kiss his hand.

"I don't deserve you," he says, quietly.

To say I'm shocked doesn't say the half of it.

"All I can do is throw tantrums when I don't get my way and run away when I get scared," he says, louder, and I can see all his hatred directing onto himself. "I don't deserve to have you respect me, because…because I'm always getting saved. I…I can't protect anyone. Tsubaki or Riko or you…All I am is a stupid kid who's only been around for eighteen years."

Why? Why do you think these awful lies about yourself? What makes you think you don't deserve my respect? Do you even know that you have it, that you've had it since you shot apart that pentagram in Nagasaki I was trapped in?

His hand shakes in mine as I pull his clenched fingers open. His palm is so sweaty and hot against my cheek. I start to cry. I can't stop myself, I have to.

"Is it…does being with me make you feel that way?" Because if it is, I'll leave. He's been hurt so much. I can't hurt him even more. I want to protect him, to make him feel loved, enough to make up for being so badly abused and neglected, but I'm failing miserably. As usual.

"No," he says, and I want so badly to believe him; his word sparks a little hope in my chest that maybe I'm not a complete waste of existence, that I can protect him and love him and not hurt him. My free hand reaches out to his face again to wipe away those tears.

He moves and winces because of the pain he's in. A soft sound, a whimper, escapes from his mouth. My hand stops. I don't know if it's pain or fear. My hand starts again. Whatever it is, I can't leave him to cry. He might still need me.

He bites me.

Once, when I was a little kid I was bitten by a dog. His owners weren't the best. They beat him and starved him, to keep him savage. Best guard dog in the neighborhood. He had been chained to a post in a neighbor's yard one afternoon and I, wanting to make him feel better, began petting him. I earned myself several stitches for my pains.

"Asato-_otouto_, you scared him," my sister had explained to me. "He's been taught that humans are going to hurt him, and he was trapped by being tied to that post. He thought you were going to beat him, too."

The dog died soon after.

I wonder if dogs can reincarnate into humans.

He releases me and I want to pull away but I'm stopped by the feel of something damp running against my hand. His tongue. He's licking my hand.

Like me…with Mariko's head…oh, God!

I pull my hand away and his tongue catches hold of my wrist.

Sometimes…when I think about Hisoka…I can't stand to have my watch on. I always figure that he has the right to know what happened to me, because I know what happened to him. And…because I have to be strong for him. It's not that he's a weak person, it's just that he doesn't rely on anyone else. He needs to know he can depend on me. And a strong person is willing to talk about the shit that's happened to him. If I could just give him that illusion that I'm a strong person…

Ha. I probably shot my chance of that to Hell with Kyoto. No wonder he doesn't rely on me. I'm not the world's most stable person. And he wants my respect? Why? What have I done to earn it? How can he think a suicidal nutjob is someone to be jockeying respect out of? How can he say that he can't protect anyone, when he's saved me from myself more than once? How…

My hand brushes his face and buries itself in his hair. My other hand holds his and my face rests against our folded fingers. I haven't been this close to him since he convinced me not to die. I would throw myself on him just like he did with me if he wasn't so injured. I need to save him, like he saved me.

"You saved me, didn't you?" I say, reassuring him more than asking, because that's the only thing that he wants from me: to know that he can help me.

And I need to tell him the truth, about why I tried to kill myself. "I…I didn't want to die, Hisoka. I wanted everyone…I wanted _you_…to be happy. I wanted to make you happy. I thought I couldn't, I thought I was just…" Just in the way. Just bringing you down. Just hurting you. "That's…that's _my_ dream, Hisoka. I want to see you happy because of me."

But I don't know what would make him happy. I only know what would make _me_ happy. God, maybe…maybe it's the same thing…maybe he wants from me what I want to give to him.

"Thank you. For saving me."

I kiss him. Once, twice, three times, I lose count. I don't care; I want them to be innumerable.

There are scars on his mouth. From Kurikara. Maybe even unhealed ones from…

Shit.

His eyes are open and terrified; a kind of fright that's accepted that pain is coming but still fears it. I pull away from him, disgusted at myself for kissing him when the last memory he has of being kissed was from someone probably trying to rip his lips open.

My self-hatred doesn't stop me from taking hold of his hand again.

"Sorry," I say lamely, wondering how to refer to that rape—that _mutilation_—as delicately as possible, as his eyes change from scared to confused. "You looked scared."

"I was," he whispers, and then looks stricken. I start to pull my hand away but he grabs it. "Stay," he orders.

He's not pushing me away. I thought he would. He usually would. Hisoka, I don't get it. Are you…are you going to talk to me?

He's silent. I can't let this chance go by. I have to get him talking.

"Did I…remind you of him?" He doesn't answer, but I can tell by the guilty look in his eyes that the answer is "yes".

God, I hate asking him about this, but he needs to talk about it. I can't let him bottle up his emotions. I can't let him end up like me.

"Is…" I swallow. "I know this is going to sound stupid but, is he what's been scaring you?"

Again, no answer, but now the guilt turns to shame. Oh, Hisoka, please don't…I look away. I can't stand to see him look ashamed, like he's doing something wrong by being scared of abuse and violation.

"Among other things," he murmurs, and even without his Empathy I can feel the truthfulness from him; he's not just saying that for my sake.

I look back at him. The shame, the guilt, the fear, all mix up in his eyes as he looks at me; even his eyes tremble. All at once I feel the most intense surge of resentment for everyone who knew Hisoka before I did. All of them used him, hurt him, broke him, killed him slowly and left their traces in him, and left him lying here on this infirmary bed, afraid to let down his guard, afraid of my touch.

I want them gone. I don't want their claws in him. I have to get rid of them.

I kiss him again, as soft as I can. There's no room for weight, for deepness, for thoroughness; everyone before me was heavy and deep and thorough in their cruelty towards him. I have to stop myself from kissing him again and again, over and over, from overwhelming him; the last thing I want to do is scare him when I'm trying to get across to him just how much I love him. The only thing constant, hard, is how tightly my hand clasps his and his, mine.

He looks so small, so vulnerable, so young. He'd hate it if he knew what I was thinking. He hates that he's only eighteen. He hates being a child.

"You know…you're not a child," I tell him. In so many ways, he's not a child. Children don't know about the evil of the world. Children can't protect, like he's protected me. I don't love him like a child.

"I…couldn't sleep," he says, hesitantly. What? "It was a really humid summer that year."

Oh. He's talking about…

"I couldn't breathe well, and it was keeping me up," he continues. "I…I punched out a window and left the house. We had a really large property, and there was this grove of cherry trees…"

He stops and looks at me, helpless, scared. This is good. He's talking. "Go on," I say.

He shakes his head, trying to make his voicebox work, to even squeak out a "No".

It now fully dawns on me that he's had half his skin burned off and has been reliving some of the worst moments of his life. Of course he can't go on. I should be thanking all the powers that be that he even began telling me the story.

"I understand," I say, nodding, trying to let him know I don't resent his silence, even though at some point it has to go. "Will you…can you tell me more, later?"

A small noise escapes his throat. I don't know what he said; I only know that his eyes are so uncertain and scared and ashamed.

"You're not a child," I say, hoping that if I keep saying it eventually he'll believe me. "And I do respect you."

A change comes over his eyes; a kind of steely resolve replaces the other emotions. Crap. I don't want him thinking he _has_ to tell me everything just right this minute. No, he needs to rest. I push his bangs out of his eyes and kiss his hand, hoping it will soothe him. His eyes change once again; there's a kind of odd peace shining out now.

Hisoka, you know that I'm here, right? That you're safe with me, that I'll wait for you, with you, that I'll stay with you, that I'm right here and I love you, right?

I wish he would close his eyes, would sleep instead of staring at me with that strange look, like he's come to some realization that's captured his attention and won't let him sleep. He needs to sleep, so I can sit right here and watch over him, so I can keep on sending any warmth I have into him, so I can keep everything—Kurikara, Muraki, his parents—outside and away from him.

Hisoka, do you want me stay here and protect you? Would that make you happy, so we can both stop crying?

His eyes do not shut, but his grip on my hand stays unwavering.

Okay, then. I will.


End file.
